A Day That Lasted Forever
by sshk0409
Summary: What would it be like to live the same day over and over for 28 years? And what would you think if you sporadically woke up? Comments are welcome and appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

Fiona literally rolled out of bed to thump on the floor. Ma was yelling, "Alban! Boyd! Calum! Time for breakfast! Fiona? Was that you making that noise? Hurry up, sweetheart! You'll be late for the buh-us!" The last word came out sing-songy. Fiona could hear the triplets giggling over their latest 'trick'. She untied the bathrobe tie from her ankles, stifling her scream of anger. Bloody useless gits. There was no point in telling on them. Ma would just shake her head and make the boys sit in the corner for 5 minutes; one minute for each year of their irksome little lives. Da would shrug and say, "Boys will be boys!" As if maleness was somehow an excuse for being brats.

Fiona dressed quickly in her favorite outfit: a black mini skirt (that she'd yank just a wee bit higher once she was at school), a royal blue sweatshirt with the neckline cut out of it (just like in Flashdance; the best movie ever!), white bobby socks, black heels (not as high as she'd like, but then Ma insisted on approving her clothing choices) and a ribbon, blue to match the shirt, as a headband that she tied into a neat bow over her right ear. It held back some of the red mess from falling into her face. She pulled on a curl and watched it spring back. _My hair is even more of a mess than Annie's. But at least she had Daddy Warbucks to get her to a proper hair stylist. Someone other than her mother. I should just shave it like Annie Lennox._ She pulled back her hair tightly to her skull. _Ma and Da would flip._

"Fiona Greer MacDonald get a move on!" _Why couldn't they have named me after Mary the bloody Queen of Scots instead of my great-grannies? Mary's a normal name… Oh crap._ If Da was calling, she was late, but if he was using her full name…._._ She grabbed her pile of books, sprinted down the stairs, barely refraining from tipping over in her heels, grabbed the Pop Tart Ma was holding, and ran full tilt out the front door to the waiting bus.

Peter Johnson patted the seat beside him. "Hey, Fee," he greeted her as she slid in. He politely looked out the window while she adjusted her skirt and sweatshirt.

"Hey, PJ" He had a copy of the Daily Mirror on his lap. "Do you mind?" she asked pointing to the paper. The bus passed by the library; the clock hands in the tower were stuck at 8:15.

"Go ahead. I read it already."

Fiona flipped it over to the front page. Mr. Starsky (Fiona giggled to herself, wondering yet again whether or not he had a friend named Hutch), the history teacher, was going to give a 'pop quiz' on current events today. Although why he called them pop quizzes when he gave them every day was a mystery. She perused the page: Sunday October 23, 1983. Marines will be staying in Beirut, something about a missing dog. _Wait…. Sunday?_

"You ready for the science test today?" PJ asked.

"Yeah," Fiona answered, immediately forgetting her confusion about the date. "Newton's Laws of Motion are easy."

0-0

Fiona was fuming as she left her first period maths class clutching a detention slip. _This is shite! Like I'm going to just, like, cheat off some, like, blooming idiot who, like, knows less, like, about derivatives than I do!_ She hadn't had a problem with straight polynomial derivatives or even the trig functions, but the Chain Rule was kicking her butt. She marched into study hall where PJ, Cassie, Robby and Bobby and the rest of the gang were hanging. "Like, I could like, totally freak out!" Bobby exclaimed. "PJ told us all about it! That was so totally not fair! Like you'd ever cheat!" SNAP! Cassie blew a huge bubble with her gum and snapped that one too. "Stop that Cassie!" Bobby ordered. "Anywho!" she trilled. "Come see! PJ thinks he can get his dad to help pay for a rental for prom!" She shoved the car magazine at Fiona. "A cherry red 1986 T-top Firebird Trans-Am… Isn't it awesome?" Fiona could see PJ and Robby practically drooling over the car. "It's even awesomer than KITT…." Now Bobby was practically drooling.

"KITT from Night Rider? Man that car rocks!" Robby and PJ started arguing the finer points of the '82 Trans-Am versus the '86; Cassie and Bobby discussed the finer points of David Hasselhoff.

While Fiona struggled silently. _This morning. On the bus. It was October 1983. Wasn't it? Not April 1986?_ She looked down at her white men's style dress shirt that had a thick black leather belt tied around it, blue jeans, and white Keds. _What the bloomin 'ell is going on?_

"So, Fee," Cassie snapped her gum again. "Who do you think is hotter?" Fiona looked up; she had no idea what they were talking about. Cassie took pity on her. "Andrew or Jon?" she asked gently. "Personally I think Jon. Duckie was in love with her all along. Blane was… was just a stuck up snob." _Oh, Pretty in Pink._ Fiona happily joined in the conversation. As someone who was 'madly in love' with Andrew McCarthy's shy smile, she had plenty of fodder to rebut Cassie's inexplicable defense of Jon Cryor's awkwardness.

0-0

Third period history's current event 'pop quiz' was easy. As usual Mr. Starsky (giggle) took the questions directly from the front page of the Mirror. As he droned on (and on) facing his notes on the board about the importance of the Gettysburg Address, Cassie furtively passed a note across the aisle. Fiona hid it quickly in the pocket of her vest right as their teacher turned around to glare at the boys who were not as fast at hiding their Car and Driver magazine. While Starsky lectured the boys on the relative importance of Civil War history versus the improbability that any of them would come near enough to the '01 Mustang to view it through a telescope, Fiona opened and quickly read the note. 'Did you hear?' the note read. 'The Mayor adopted a baby boy from Boston. That creepy pawn shop guy got it for her.' Another piece of paper was deliberately placed on her desk as the note was snatched away. "Detention, Miss McDonald and Miss Calhoun. There is no note passing in my class." _Bollocks._ Mr. Starsky read the note out loud to the class. And then he changed the length of the detentions on their slips. "Mr. Gold may not be the most personable man in town, but you should show him a bit more respect than to call him 'creepy'."

Fiona slammed her notebook shut and slumped in her seat. _Another detention. Ma's going to kill me._ She stuck her Puma hightop sneakers on the bar of PJ's chair in front and gave a small shove. He turned and shrugged. 'Meet me at three for ice cream?' he mouthed. 'If I don't get another one,' she mouthed back. She took her feet off his chair and crossed her legs, putting the right ankle on the left knee. She started coloring in the sneaker (black on black so Ma wouldn't notice and throw a hissy fit). _Wait… I was wearing Keds last period…_ The bell rang; Fiona plucked her backpack off the back of her chair, threw one strap over a shoulder and hurried off to the locker room for gym.

0-0

Fiona strode along, Sketchers hitting the track in time to the song on her iPod. "And I'm on tonight you know my hips don't lie, And I'm starting to feel it's right" she sang.

Bobby tapped her on the shoulder. "Hell-ooo-ooo! Earth to Fee! You in there?" Fiona took off her headphones and wrapped them around her neck. "So, your brothers are complete dufusses, you know that right?" Fiona nodded. She wasn't giving her full attention; The Mission Impossible theme song was now playing and she was having shivers about Tom Cruise (so hot in Mission Impossible III!). But Bobby didn't notice and kept talking. "So Mike told Harry who told Mom who told me that Alban tripped Henry at recess yesterday. And then Boyd and Calum fed him mud pies."

_Sounds like my brothers. I hope they got suspended. Can you get suspended in kindergarten?_ "Who's Henry?" Fiona asked, not really caring, but it seemed the right question to ask.

"Who's Henry?!" Bobby's mouth dropped open. "Henry Mills? The Mayor's kid? I'm just surprised she hasn't ground them into minced meat yet…"

0-0

PJ and Fiona walked through the hallways from the cafeteria to the science lab. "You ready?" he asked.

"Yeah. Newton's Laws of Motion. Easy peasy..."

"Lemon squeezy."

She smiled. "Do you know what Bobby told me during gym? She said that the gits tripped the mayor's kid and made him eat mud pies during recess yesterday…. They are sooooo dead when Ma and Da find out."

PJ stopped her in a quiet-ish section of the hallway. "You OK, Fee?" She nodded. He put a hand on her back, half on her jean skirt waistband, and half on the bare skin bared by her peach crop top, to pull her in from a pair of freshmen on Heelys racing by. "You sure? 'Cause usually you're smarter than this…."

"What are you talking about?"

"Henry Mills? He's in Marc's class. Second grade. They don't share recess with kindergartners…. They couldn't have fed him mud pies…."

0-0

"Peanut butter fudge: your favorite."

Fiona dropped her book bag and plopped onto the empty stool next to PJ. "I think I love you," she laughed.

"Detention that bad?" he asked through a mouthful.

She pulled down her Red Sox tee. "You have no idea. A bad end to a horrible day." They ate in silence for a while, enjoying how the ice cream chased away the summer heat. _Summer? How is it summer? It was October this morning!_

"You OK, Fee? You look like someone stepped on your grave…."

"PJ? I need you to do something for me, OK? Don't ask questions; just tell me what happened to me today. Don't leave anything out."

"You're scaring me, Fee…" PJ looked long and hard in Fiona's face. Whatever he saw seemed to worry him, as he started to frown. "Well, you were late for the bus. Again," he began. "You borrowed the Mirror for the current events quiz. We had a quiz in Calc, and you got busted for cheating, which you didn't do."

"A quiz on what?" she asked eagerly.

"Chain rule. Then we went to study hall. Robby and I talked about The Fast and the Furious cars. You guys talked about movie dudes you think are hot. You got busted for passing notes in history. Bobby trolled you with some story about your brothers pranking the mayor's kid. You told me about it on the way to the science test. You really shouldn't have fallen for that one; you know the Mills kid's a year older than Marc. And kindergartners don't interact with third graders…. You almost got knocked over by freshmen running races in the halls after lunch. We took a test in science. Newton's Laws. Dunno whatcha did last period, but I'm guessing you went to detention after, and here we are."

Fiona shook her head, corn row braids swishing over her back. "No, the freshmen were wearing Heelys… And you told me Marc was in the same grade…. Something's wrong. Something is very wrong." She slid off the stool and left the ice cream parlor leaving her backpack and a protesting PJ behind.

0-0

She had no idea how long she wandered, but it was past dark. _Ma's going to kill me. If Da doesn't get to me first._ Storybrooke was a pretty safe town, but even it had it's rough spots. She sank to the pavement, dizzy from alcohol, one hand clutching a copy of the Mirror, and the other a paper bag some short, old, bald guy had handed her saying, "You look like you need this more than me, Sister." She huddled into her Patriot's sweatshirt and took another pull on the whiskey inside the bag.

"Well, that's something new," an amused voice called out from the darkness. "I'm sorry, dear, but you're going to have to move."

"Ah, a fellow Scot!" Fiona raised the bag in salute. "Inverness. But I'm not sheeting. I checked. Iths from Virginia. Whas the date?"

Two legs and a cane walked out of the darkness. Fiona tried very hard to see if they were attached to a body, but she couldn't see one. They should belong to Mr. Gold; he was the only Scot she knew of who walked with a cane. But he never spoke to teenagers…. The voice spoke, "In reverse, October 23rd, 2011. Inverness is not in Virginia. And I grew up in Glasgow."

Fiona peered at the paper; the date matched the one the voice had given her. "Good." She hiccupped softly. "The wishkey isn't sheeting. It's not skoth, skoth, sko-shhh wishkey. Iths from Virginia. I'm from Inverness." She tilted her head up to look up into the sky towards where the head that should belong to the legs, or voice, should be. Still wasn't there. She looked up so high she banged the back of her head on the car bumper behind her. "Ow."

The voice let out a low chuckle. "And just why is drinking Virginian whiskey not cheating?"

"Iss 'gainst the law for sc-hots to drink Irish whishkey." Fiona wrenched her gaze from the sky; the chuckling voice had some really nice shoes. Her stomach lurched a bit. "Oooh," she whispered, holding onto her mouth. The legs came closer revealing the torso and head belonging to them.

"Oh, no," the voice warned. "You're not going to get sick on my car." He bent over and gently helped Fiona to her feet. He helped her stagger a few feet around his car so she could slump on the sidewalk. "Stay here. I'm going to get you some coffee."

When Fiona heard the man (was it Gold?) come back a few minutes later, she was absurdly proud that her stomach had remained inside of her body instead of running off down the street like it had threatened to do. Repeatedly. "Drink this. Slowly," he commanded handing her a take-out coffee cup. "It will help with the nausea and clear up your head a bit." She took a careful sip of the overly sweet brew; her stomach let out a sigh of relief as the sugar and caffeine went to work.

A few more sips and Fiona felt better enough that she could sit up cross legged. "What day is it?"

"Same as it was ten minutes ago: October 23rd, 2011." Fiona closed her eyes in relief. _Thank God!_ "You seem overly obsessed with the date." Fiona opened one eye to peer up at the man. Man? Men? There were two standing over her, but she could have sworn there was only one before…. She closed that eye and opened the other. Nope, still two men. So she closed that one, too.

"You wouldn't believe the day I've had," she whispered. "I woke up this morning in 1983. I went to school wearing bobby socks and a cut up sweatshirt." She extracted an iPhone 4 from her jeans and held it up. "This was an iPod with Shakira's 'Hips Don't Lie' on it during gym class." She dropped the iPhone into her lap. "I'm going crazy."

"So you decided to get drunk."

"No…," she hedged. "Some old dude gave me the bottle, and I figured the day couldn't really be any worse drunk than it was sober. Whiskey sucks, by the way."

"Only the cheap stuff," he retorted. "Can you walk to my shop? I think you and I need to have a little talk."

Fiona had never been inside the pawn shop before. But here she was in the back room, sitting on a little bed with a trash bucket between her knees. And firm instructions from Mr. Gold that she was to be sick in the bucket or not at all. The man himself was in the front room leaving a message for the sheriff about someone giving teenagers whiskey bottles and helping them to get drunk.

Gold parted the curtains and limped over to the bed. Fiona felt a frisson of fear as she sobered up enough to realize that no one knew she was here. She was alone, more than slightly drunk, and sitting on a bed belonging to the man the whole town acknowledged to be cold and calculating. Ruthless. She was in trouble with a capital T. He pulled over a stool and sat on it. "Stop looking like a frightened rabbit!" he snapped. "I'm not going to hurt you." He paused, waiting for her to absorb that statement. "I'm also guessing that your parents would rather you came home past midnight and sober rather than in the back of a police car, drunk, at nine." This time she nodded right away. _Ma and Pa will kill me for drinking._ "Good. First: what's your name child?" She told him. "Now. Think carefully. How many times did you wake up?"

"Huh?"

"You woke up in 1983. It's now 2011. It has been twenty eight years." He drew out the last three words. "How many times did you wake up?"

"I don't know. How? I woke up once, this morning, when the gits, otherwise known as my brothers, tied my legs together and I fell out of bed. It can't have been twenty eight years! I'm only seventeen!" Fiona was starting to hyperventilate. What was Gold talking about? How many times did she wake up? Twenty eight years times 365 days plus a few extra for leap years?

"No, no, no," he scolded. "You've told me about three times you woke up. Once twenty eight years ago. Once with the iPod. And once tonight. Was that it? Or were there more?"

"You mean how many times today when things seemed weird?" He nodded, and she noticed his knuckles going whiter as he gripped his cane. She took a sip of the now rapidly cooling coffee and thought back. "This morning, study hall, history, gym, science, ice cream, and now," she said slowly holding out a finger each time. "Seven."

"Seven times…." His eyes looked soft, lost as he was in introspection. For a moment he looked almost kind. But then his eyes narrowed and his voice became harsher, "How did you do it…?"

Fiona's stomach decided just then that it really didn't like where it was and decided to go elsewhere. Gold let out an exasperated snort, but walked the short distance to the bed so as to hold the sick teenager's hair back as her body attempted to get rid of the alcohol poisoning it. When it was over, he brought over some tissues and a cup of mouthwash and water so she could clean up a bit. Then he gave her a glass of water and some saltines to take while he disposed of the vomit.

"Better?" He asked when he returned with a cleaned trash can.

She nodded weakly. "Sorry. Thanks, appreciate it." She laid down and curled her knees into her belly. "How come no one else noticed?"

Gold considered for a minute. "Can you keep a secret?" She nodded. "You can't tell anyone: not your parents, not your boyfriend, not your best friend. Not a teacher. Not even the sheriff. No one." Fiona bit her lip, but nodded again. "This town has been living the same day over and over for the past twenty eight years. The little things change, like eating spaghetti instead of chicken for dinner. And you bought new clothes as fashions changed. Cars wore out and got replaced. But your day to day life? That was the same. But the beauty of it was that no one realized it. So your English lesson today? You've had that same lesson, or a minor variation of it, every day for twenty eight years. Including summers and weekends. And not one of you realized it. Except for you. Seven times you woke up just long enough to realize something was different, something was wrong…. How did you do it…."

"Who else is awake?"

"Myself, one other. We both woke on the first day. But she doesn't know I'm awake, and I intend to keep it that way."

"I won't tell. I promise." Fiona drew a little x over her heart. "What happened to us? How can we live for so long and not age?"

Gold looked down at his cane handle. "I can't tell you, Dearie. There are some secrets I have to keep. But tomorrow?" He looked up. "Tomorrow should be a new day. Time should start moving again. Look to the clock tower. And soon enough, everyone will wake up and all will be made clear." He moved over to a table and wrote something down. "In the meantime, put this somewhere safe tonight. Some place your parents won't look, but you will. It's the number to the shop. If time gets weird again in the next few months, call me, OK?" Fiona nodded and tucked the paper into her back pocket. "Now. Let's get you home shall we? I'm sure your parents are quite worried by now."

0-0

Fiona was mostly asleep when she felt something soft on her nose. She brushed it away, only to have her face splashed by water and a bowl bonk her in the forehead. Ma was yelling, "Alban! Boyd! Calum! Time for breakfast! Fiona? Are you awake yet?" Fiona could hear the triplets giggling in the hallway. She unwrapped the string (that was connected to the hole punched in the bowl on the other end) from her wrist and wiped most of the water from her face with her nightie. _Stupid gits._ She went to get her jeans from the night before. There in a back pocket was the phone number to Gold's Pawnshop. 'To be used when Time is wrong.' the paper said.

Fiona dressed quickly and wolfed down a bowl of cereal. She ignored Da's glare and Ma's comments about being dealt with after school. She was at the bus stop before it came and plopped down onto the bench next to PJ when it arrived.

"You look better, Fee," he observed. "I brought your back pack…."

As PJ talked about how he thought he did on the science test, Fiona looked at the date on The Mirror: Monday, October 24th, 2011. The bus passed by the library; the clock hands read 8:22. She smiled; time was moving….

**A/N: Had to edit this this morning. Yes, I can do Calculus, but apparently I can't add. I took 1983 and added 28 to get 2013. I then used 2003 as my ending date and worked backwards from there to get what happened. It's been fixed now. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N. OK. So this story was going to be a one-shot deal. But then a reviewer asked for an update (Thank you!), so I started thinking. And about 20 different directions later, this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy. And thank you for reading.**

* * *

Fiona strode among the Miners' Day vendors looking for her friends. She'd promised to meet them twenty minutes ago, but Ma had been on a rampage all morning. The triplets had set up an elaborate rigging system designed to rain marbles down on Fiona's unsuspecting head; they caught their mother instead. But when Ma had finished firmly speaking to them about why practical jokes were inappropriate, and sent them to three separate living room corners for 10 minutes (OMG! They must _really_ be in trouble. NOT!), she had started in on her daughter's choice of low rise jeans, and a belly T that quite nicely displayed a fake belly ring. But it wasn't until Ma had yanked her arm and complained, "Are you even listening to me?" that the teen realized Ma was talking to her. She nodded her head, because apparently that was what Ma wanted, but she had no idea what she was agreeing to. Something about a change of clothing?

The teen trudged up to her room to change, secure in the knowledge of one thing and one thing only: _My name is not Fiona._

And now, bundled up against the cold (and Ma's wrath), she saw the people she had known since moving into Storybrooke six years ago. (Or thirty four, if Mr. Gold was correct and the town had been asleep for twenty eight years.) And she knew their names, and at the same time, she had no idea who most of them were. _I'm going insane…. Entire towns don't sleep for twenty eight years. You can't live that long and not age! Even Rip Van Winkle grew old…._ She edged past a stall where the drunk guy who gave her the whiskey and Miss Blanchard were (not) selling candles. _Her name's not Miss Blanchard. And her hair isn't boy-short, it's almost as long as mine!_ Fiona reached a hand around to her back and gave a long pull on the single braid she had forced her hair into. She pulled until the tears in her eyes were from the pain and not the cold and wind.

Maybe since she couldn't find her friends, she could find Mr. Gold. She'd call from her iPhone, but Ma and Da went over the bill number by number to make sure she wasn't using it inappropriately. And his shop number showing up would definitely be inappropriate. She could go to the shop itself, but half the town watched the front half of his shop, and the other half watched the back; Ma and Da would find out before she could ask a single question. Of course, he'd probably just tell her, and them, she was crazy anyways, and that he'd never told her that the town was asleep. _I'm not crazy. I'm not._

She found her way to an empty park bench, and sat. She slouched into her coat, pulling the collar up over her mouth and nose, and shoved her gloveless hands into her pockets to warm them up. A body sat down on the bench beside her and a soft voice asked, "And how is our whiskey drinker this morning?"

Fiona sat up straight. "Mr. Gold!" she blurted out.

"Guilty as charged."

"I never thanked you. For not turning me in to the police."

"I thought the effects of overindulging in cheap whiskey would be punishment enough, don't you?" He wasn't opening his mouth very much and he was talking very softly. Anyone not too close wouldn't see that they were actually talking if she imitated him.

"Yeah, about that," she muttered. "Did you really tell me this town was asleep?"

"Yes."

"Are they still asleep? I mean, are we still the only ones awake? Cause something else weird is going on…."

"Time has started moving again. As far as I know there are five people awake. What weird things? And why didn't you call me to tell me this?"

Fiona hesitated. It was one thing to puke in front of the man, another thing entirely to tell him she didn't even know her own name….. "I can't call; my parents will," just in time, she replaced a swear with a more innocuous word, "Flip the big one if they see your number in my phone. And, well… I'm pretty sure…. I don't think my name is Fiona…."

"It probably isn't," he agreed. "Most of us got new names when we went to sleep. Gold is certainly not the name my father gave me…."

"What?" she screeched, turning around to glare at him.

"Calm down, Dearie! You're calling attention to our little tête-à-tête, and we can't have that. " Fiona forced herself to sit back and look ahead. "I will figure out some way for you to contact me when you have questions. In the meantime, I suggest you find a way to get yourself back in control. The sack races are over there." And with that, he left her alone on the bench.

Not even a minute passed before an exuberant PJ bounded up, "There you are! Been looking for you all over!"

"Hey there," Fiona answered. "Ma shit a pile of bricks this morning; the trips got her instead of me."

"So they were busted, for what, like 3 minutes?" PJ grinned; he knew full well how little discipline the triplets received.

"No… Ma was flipping mad. She gave them ten minutes. But then she lit into me for having a fake belly button ring."

"I'd like to see that," he said making the most lecherous face he could.

"In your dreams." Fiona smiled a very insincere smile and changed topics. "Where is everyone?"

"They'll find us eventually. Come on. Let's go play one of those carnival games; I'll win you a stuffy."

* * *

Several hours (and dollars) later, they were still stuffy-less. And Fiona was trying very hard not to be hurt. They had run into Bobby and Cassie laughing and munching on cotton candy. The two girls blanched, started babbling about having to babysit Bobby's (nonexistent) younger siblings, and ran off.

"What did I do?" Fiona whispered.

PJ snorted. "You didn't do anything. I asked them to stay away." When she looked at him uncomprehendingly, he exploded. "God, Fee! For someone so smart, you really are dumb! I asked you to hang out with me today. Me." He jabbed a finger at his chest. Then he reached out, and took her hand. "I asked you to go out with me, Fiona."

"Like a date? You asked me on a date?"

"Yeah, a date. What else is a guy supposed to do when he has a massive crush on the girl who's been his best friend since he was twelve? He asks her out and pleads with her BFFs to take a hike." When Fiona didn't say anything for a few minutes, he began pleading. "Don't leave me hanging here, Fee."

She smiled and blushed and bit her lip. "Yeah… Yes I'll go out with you." She tilted her head up and closed her eyes as his lips swooped down to touch hers. Her whole body jolted in surprise; PJ deepened the kiss, pressing his lips more firmly on hers. Their lips clung, parted, and resettled on each other, explored the other's taste and texture. Her fingers tangled in his hair while his hands were busy smoothing her jacket against her back. Eventually he lifted his head enough to kiss her nose, then her forehead as she snuggled into his embrace.

"Wow. That was..."

"Amazing."

"Perfect."

"Perfect."

* * *

As soon as Ma and Da found out she was dating, they implemented a no boys policy. (Which Fiona wished included her brothers.) No boys were allowed in the house at any time, for any reason including but not limited to school projects, TV marathons, and dying. PJ's parents issued a similar rule, except that she could come into the house to call 911 in the sole case that he was dying. Which made dating rather a challenge. Storybrooke wasn't really designed for teenagers to hang out in: no malls with quiet corners, no cool teen stores with a clerk who would look the other way. So being alone together pretty much meant hanging out at the docks or the beach, where only a quarter of the town could see them at any given time. Or for almost complete privacy they could go walking through the forest. But even in a relatively mild Maine spring, like this one was, this meant wearing heavy parkas with gloves, hats, scarves and boots. They discovered quite rapidly that kissing was not as pleasurable as one might think when various body parts were slowly being frozen. They usually settled for meeting at Granny's where at least they could hold hands while sipping hot chocolate and sharing a basket of fries.

But sitting at Granny's made for interesting times, at least for Fiona. Henry Mills, the mayor's kid, met up with the new sheriff (also his birth mother), Emma Swan, there almost daily. And while they did whisper most of the time, sometimes they talked in normal tones that carried over to other booths about a book of fairy tales that were supposedly true. According to Henry, the entire town was from a land called the Enchanted Forest where magic was real; they had been transported to Maine and cursed by the mayor so that they didn't know who they really were. And, most importantly to Henry, Sheriff Swan was supposed to be the one to break the curse. Also, according to Henry, Miss Blanchard (his teacher and Sheriff Swan's roommate) was really Snow White (and the sheriff's mother). It was obvious that the sheriff didn't believe Henry. Neither did Miss Blanchard. The few times Fiona discussed it with PJ, he made it quite clear he too thought the kid was delusional.

But to Fiona, it made complete sense. Thinking of Miss Blanchard as Snow White gave Fiona a vision (a memory?) of Snow White in a beautiful, feathery, white wedding dress, her hair all done up in elaborate curls with little flowers. Her husband-to-be wore a silver jacket embroidered with gold or bronze thread (it was hard to see through the throng of people in the room) over black pants and looked an awful lot like Mr. Nolan, the former coma patient who became Miss Blanchard's lover. (And was currently married to, and possibly divorcing from, the woman who Miss Blanchard was accused of killing until Mrs. Nolan showed up, bruised and battered but still alive, in an alleyway.)

And yet somehow, to Fiona, the tangled web of teacher, coma patient, and not-murdered wife seemed more unreal than the idea that Miss Blanchard was a cursed Snow White.

* * *

"All right ladies!" the gym teacher yelled. "Put your height and weight next to your name. Add an inch or two if you're wearing heels to graduation. And print, PRINT, your name the way you want it written on your diploma. Then take guards, a quiver, a bow and head on out to the targets. DO NOT touch the arrows!" Almost the entire class started groaning either over having to write their weight for the rest of creation to see or because archery was one of the very few gym class activities that you were not allowed to skip and walk the track instead. When it became Fiona's turn, she wrote 5'6" (adding a bit of height for heels), 120 (subtracting some weight), and _Fiona Greer MacDonald_ (wishing that she knew her real name and could write that instead). Then she grabbed her equipment and walked out to the field.

Several students already out at the field were playing with their bows, mock shooting imaginary arrows at human shaped targets instead of the straw ones with boldly painted concentric circles on them. Fiona slid the quiver and bow onto the stand staked into the grass and strapped on the guard for her left forearm almost without thinking. She slid the three middle fingers of her right hand into the finger guard and tightened the piece that wrapped around her wrist. She picked up the bow and gave a cautious pull on its string, testing for tension. An arrow chosen from the quiver snugged against the bow string, breathe in and out, draw the string back to the cheek, breathe in and hold, see where the arrow would land, release. THWACK! The arrow wobbled back and forth, embedded halfway down its length on the lower side of the black ring surrounding the bull's-eye. Fiona wasn't sure if she was happy that she shot as well as she did, considering the piece-of-crap bow she was using, or disappointed that the arrow wasn't centered in the target. She had just decided that she was pleased with her shot when the teacher screamed, "Fiona! Office! Detention! NOW!"

_Oh bloody Hell._ Fiona ripped off her safety equipment and stomped off the field. _I didn't hurt anybody. Hell, I almost shot a freakin' bulls-eye!_ Neither excuse worked on the vice-principal. Nor Ma. In fact the two of them were perfectly in agreement over the atrocities a student with a bow and arrow could commit without the proper tutelage and supervision which was how Fiona found herself with a home suspension for the remainder of the day and an office as well as a class detention the next day.

The dejected teen walked away from the school, scuffing her sneakers and kicking the occasional rock. _It's not fair! _That bow, as pathetic as it was, had felt so right in her hands. The tension in her arms and back as she pulled back. The brush of a feather against her cheek. The snapping of the string against the plastic guard on her wrist. It all felt so familiar. But not the same-day-repeating-itself type of familiar. This felt real, like my-name-is-not-Fiona real, like Miss-Blanchard-is-really-Snow-White real. Fiona stopped walking, having reached the end of the sidewalk. She thought about turning around to go home when she noticed the shadow of a store front sign, and realized that she was standing in front of Mr. Gold's Pawnshop. _In for a penny, in for a pound!_ Fiona squared her shoulders, faced the fact that she was going to be dead meat when Ma got home (if not for getting suspended or for not heading straight home from school, then for going into the pawn shop), and opened the door.

A bell over the door tinkled; Fiona blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the dim interior of the shop after the bright sunlight outside. It looked a lot different through sober eyes than it had with drunk ones. More wood and glass cabinetry, less bed. Still jam packed full of stuff, though. Maybe she was in a different room? Mr. Gold was looking quite elegant for an old guy: a light purple dress shirt with a slightly darker purple tie and a charcoal waistcoat covered by a dark green apron. And he had two gold bands on his upper arms. _What are they for?_ Gold put down a silver tea pot he had been polishing, "Ah, Miss MacDonald. What can I help you with today?"

Fiona debated internally, her emotions flashing across her face. Should she open with a question about Henry and was he right? Did the mayor really curse everyone? Was that why they were all living the same day over and over again? Was everyone in the town some fairy tale character? Or should she ask if Miss Blanchard really was Snow White? And who exactly was Sheriff Swan to Henry and Miss Blanchard? Her mouth opened and closed several times as she decided on a question and immediately discarded it. _Great, now I look like a bloody fish._ She took a breath and asked the one question that had nothing to do with Henry and curses: "Do you sell archery equipment?"

"The sporting goods store is down the street," he pointed and picked up his polishing rag.

"Yeah, I'm looking for something a bit less modern, I think." She closed her eyes as a picture developed in her mind. Her voice was filled with longing as she whispered what she saw, "Leather guards, arrows made with ash wood, steel tips, and real feathers not those synthetic ones. A wooden bow, re-curved to make it stronger, more powerful. A leather quiver and belt for my waist." As she spoke, Gold limped around his shop gathering the items she bespoke. Fiona opened her eyes, amazed that the exact items she had envisioned were lying on a display case. "How much?" she breathed, stroking a finger down the wood of the bow.

"These are very pricey. More, I think, than a teenager can afford. But for you, I will offer a deal."

"Anything."

"People tend to regret saying that to me." Fiona's panicked blue eyes flew up to meet his brown ones. "Relax. I'm not going to ask for your first born child. I haven't spoken to you since Miner's Day. Tell me what you've learned since then."

So Fiona spoke. About what Henry said about his mother. And his other mother. About the book. And Miss Blanchard. She told him everything she knew and everything she suspected. And when she finished, he nodded thoughtfully, boxed up the archery equipment so she wouldn't be harassed on her way home, and bade her good day. He neither confirmed nor denied anything she said. Which should have been really annoying, but she was only allowing it to be a minor irritant since he didn't charge a penny for any of the stuff in the box she was now cheerfully lugging across town.

* * *

Between detentions and groundings, it took a few days for Fiona to escape the parental watchfulness long enough to buy an archery target cover from the sporting goods store. And a few days more, and JP's assistance, to find a hay bale laying 'forgotten' in a field. Together they wriggled the target cover over the bale. Fiona set up a few yards away, and let loose arrow after arrow into a little circle in the center of the bulls-eye. With each arrow she stepped back increasing her distance to the target. Finally the quiver was empty, and Fiona's arm and back muscles burned from disuse. She scuffed her placement in the ground rolling her shoulders to ease the muscle pain and went to collect her arrows. Halfway across the field, she felt something go through her, like a shiver, but external. It was enough to make her stagger a bit; as she straightened, her eyes focused on the neat circle the arrows made in the target.

_My name is Merida!_


	3. Chapter 3

PJ's mom came home from her nursing shift at the hospital with sad news. "Mayor Mill's son was taken ill a few hours ago," she announced pouring herself a glass of wine. "The sheriff and the mayor were having a shouting match in the hall; the sheriff said he ate part of an apple turnover and just collapsed. And apparently, the mayor is the one who baked the dessert. Rumors were flying around the hospital saying that Dr. Whale can't find anything wrong with the poor kid. And as I was driving home, I saw the weirdest thing; the mayor and sheriff breaking into the library and the sheriff had a sword!"

His younger sister, Penny, jumped up on the couch brandishing a wooden spoon. "If I was Sheriff Swan I would have sworded the mayor to death!" She thrust and jabbed with her make-pretend sword. "Oh! Maybe they're going to have a duel in the library!"

PJ's dad swerved to avoid being poked with the spoon. "Mark my words!" he pontificated. "Those girls are going to ruin this town. Children need a proper home with a mother and a father." He settled into his recliner facing the TV and popped the top of the first of the three beers he allowed himself to drink each night. "This nonsense of having children out of wedlock is dangerous! What kind of example is that sheriff setting for our kids? That it's OK to mess around and get pregnant when you're not even old enough to vote? And that mayor! Adopting a kid when she hasn't got a husband…."

PJ escaped to his room, microwaved TV dinner in hand, his parents still arguing the merits of morality in public figures and Penny still fighting a mock duel on the couch. Yet another normal night in the Johnson household: mother gossiping about patients and staff in the hospital, father moralizing just like an evangelical preacher on TV, and Penny acting like a three year old hoping at least one of their parents would notice her. At nearly fifteen, she really should know better. He fingered a lumpy scar on the back of his head; the end result of another mock duel involving Penny when he was ten. His mother had thought that she knew the same as any doctor and had stitched him up herself. But the cut had been almost four inches long and curved, and his mother had never received any instruction on how to properly stitch wounds. Other than the dying part, he almost envied Henry; it must be nice to have two parents who loved you….

It kind of sucked having a father who was more than slightly obnoxious. The old man used to work in logistics for the sanitation department until he got into an argument with the mayor. She wasn't able to fire him, but she was able to get him demoted to riding the back of a trash truck. And if the loss in position wasn't demoralizing enough, the loss in pay meant that he wasn't able to be the sole provider for his family anymore. PJ's mom resumed working as a nurse at the hospital; her salary starting salary was higher than his ever was. For a man who firmly and honestly believed that it was the man's responsibility to lead and provide for his family and the wife's job to nurture children and take care of the home, this was a crushing blow.

His mom wasn't much better. She did like working as a nurse, but she resented being placed in a position where she _had_ to work or they'd lose their house. She took small comfort in the thought that once the kids moved out, they could sell the house, move to a small apartment, and live on his income. And she would again have the choice to work or not as she pleased.

The only bright spot in his life was hanging out with Fiona. She wasn't exactly beautiful; her nose was too small, her mouth too wide. And her hair refused to be tamed. But she had a gorgeous set of bright blue eyes that he could stare at forever and an accent that would make even Walden seem interesting if she read it aloud. She had been his best friend since the day she skipped onto the bus and sat next to him back when they were twelve. She had an amazing sense of humor, and a penchant for getting in trouble at school over stupid little things. And when she kissed him, he felt the world slip away; the only thing that mattered was her.

PJ forked a bite of his turkey and gravy dinner into his mouth, ignoring the cardboard flavor and consistency. His phone dinged, indicating a message from Fiona.

F: u there?

P: yeah.

F: u still going to help me 2moro?

P: course. Time?

F: early. 6? 630?

P: k. howd u get bow anyways.

F: Gold sold for song.

P: rly?

F: sorta. He just wanted me to tell him everything I knew about Henry n sheriff. He gave me bow n arrow

P: u gotta be careful with Gold.

F: Idk. Never heard of him reneging on a deal. + he was nice 2 me when I got drunk last year

P: But what about Ashley Boyd? Mom says Gold tried to steal her baby.

F: Rly? I heard she signed papers for adoption and he was just trying to pick the kid up for its new parents.

P: Wonder if either is truth?

F: idk. Gotta go. The parents are calling.

P: C u 2moro at 6. ly

F: lyt

* * *

PJ let himself out of the house early the next morning, tiptoeing past his father fast asleep still in the recliner. Trudging through a rain-wet forest to a clearing containing a 'liberated' hay bale for the sole purpose of watching your girlfriend shoot arrows into it was not the brightest idea he'd ever agreed to, but almost anything was better than staying at home. Besides, the perks were rather awesome. PJ sat cross legged on a trash bag so his clothes wouldn't get wet and watched with grateful appreciation as the sweatshirt Fiona was pulling over her head dragged up her apple green T-shirt exposing a nice three or four inch band of skin. That she wasn't wearing a belly button ring wasn't surprising, but it was more than slightly disappointing. That pale smooth ring between her shirt and hip hugging jeans was begging for some sort of decoration. She needed a tat for her hip, something that would peep above the low waist of her pants and entice the viewer into wondering what the rest looked like. He immediately excluded the traditional 'girly' tattoos (hearts, flowers, sun, moon, etc.) as not extraordinary enough. Given her new found interest in archery, perhaps the Sagittarius constellation…. Fiona pulled the first arrow from the quiver, set it against the bow string and let it fly to the target. Pulling back on the bow tightened her T-shirt across her chest and once again lifted its hem away from her jeans. PJ stopped breathing as she stepped back and sent another arrow on its way; he wasn't sure which was more entrancing: her belly-button playing peek-a-boo or that he finally knew that Fiona liked to wear lace edged bras. He resumed breathing, light-headed from more than just a lack of oxygen, when Fiona lowered her bow and the brain in his head re-engaged. He was surprised to see that the quiver was empty; it hadn't seemed that long…. But he was more surprised to see that the arrows formed a neat circle in the center of the target.

"That was amazing," he whispered, complimenting not just the outstanding archery. He saw Fiona stagger, and then a wave crashed into him. Perhaps not so much a physical wave as a mental one. It smashed into his memories, broke down barriers, reminded him of the truth: _my name is Jack Spaniel_.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Whale set down the paddles on the tray. Another battle won in the fight for Henry's life. The steady blip indicating sinus rhythm sounded almost cheerful after the organized chaos from a few minutes ago. He peered up at the clock through suddenly blurred vision: 3:23 AM. He'd been at the hospital for over fifteen hours. "I need some shut eye," he announced to no one in particular. "I'll be in the on call room if there is an emergency, and I do mean a real emergency." Shuffling through the glass doors, Whale noticed the lack of either of Henry's mothers in the waiting room. He soundlessly cursed them and their idiotic rivalry for Henry's affections; the boy had enough love for a hundred mothers. What he needed right now was one of them sitting at his side, holding his hand, and telling him everything was going to be fine. Because Whale knew different: since they didn't know what had done this to Henry, they were playing a game of 'treat the symptoms not the cause'. And doctors inevitably were the losers in that game.

* * *

_Henry's immortal soul is in danger._ Whether or not he had been baptized was unclear; neither he nor his mothers attended church with any sort of regularity. He also did not attend catechism classes. Reul was quite afraid that this poor young boy was going to Hell. But she could change that. It was obvious that the boy was going to die. Dr. Whale was good, but this illness had no name, no onset of symptoms, no obvious signs. He was battling God for the boy's life, and God always won. But before that, Henry needed to become one with God. Ideally, a priest would be here, but neither of Henry's mothers had called one in. The nun firmly believed that faith was far more important in these rites than maleness; she would baptize the child and give him the sacrament of the anointing of the sick as best as possible given the circumstances. God would understand.

In a lull between nurses reading vital signs, the nun crept up to the boy's side. "Your parents should be here for this, and god parents. But this will have to do," she whispered. "The Christian community welcomes you with great joy. In its name I claim you for Christ our Savior by the sign of his cross. I now trace the cross on your forehead." She drew a cross in holy water on Henry's forehead. "I ask our Lord Jesus Christ to look lovingly on this child who is to be baptized. By the mystery of your death and resurrection, bathe this child in light, give him the new life of baptism and welcome him into your holy Church." She bowed her head over the still body and recited a decade of the rosary, the mantras of the Hail Mary and Lord's Prayer soothing her troubled thoughts. Henry was such a nice young man; Reul struggled with accepting that Jesus was calling him home. She drew another cross on the boy's head, and placed one hand on his forehead and another over his heart. "Through this holy anointing may the Lord in his love and mercy help you with the grace of the Holy Spirit. May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up."

As yet another nurse made her rounds to read the machines, the Mother Superior retreated from Henry's bedside. Her rosary beads slipped one by one through her fingers as she prayed for the boy's soul, his mothers, for those that loved him. The boy might die, but at least they would have the comfort that she had saved him from Hell.

* * *

Marcie Johnson woke up when the front door clicked closed. She padded to the window to see her son, PJ, loping down the street in the direction of Fiona MacDonald's house. She hoped they were being careful. Having a child at 23 when you already had your nursing degree and you had a husband with a good paying full time job was difficult enough. But getting pregnant while still in high school? With an education that only entitled you to a job that required you to ask 'do you prefer paper or plastic?' or 'would you like fries with that?' She wanted better than that for her children. For her grandchildren (may they come far in the future).

A flash of light caught Marcie's eye and she turned her head to see PJ's best friend, Robby, settle into the couch in his living room next door. Robby's little brother, Mark, jumped onto his brother's lap. _Two brothers watching early morning cartoons. Norman Rockwell wouldn't have painted it, but he should have. Life is too fleeting not to appreciate the wonder of an eighteen year old spending time with his eight year old brother. _She whispered a prayer for Henry Mills who, after all, wasn't that much older than Mark. And who quite likely was never going to watch another early morning cartoon.

* * *

He was surrounded by the dead in some sort of dungeon like morgue. Everything was black, white, or a shade of gray except for the brilliant green moss growing on the stone walls and a deep blue glow hovering under the sheets where the corpses' hearts would be. It was cold and damp, like there was somehow a fine mist floating about the room. His feet squelched in his shoes, and his hair clung lankly to his head as he turned in a circle. No windows, no doors, just an endlessly long corridor filled with gurneys and no life. A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, swallowed his scream of terror. "Dr. Whale? Wake up! Henry's crashing again."

His nurses were efficient. The room had been cleaned while he slept, the trays of epinephrine and other drugs in the cart restocked, a new bag of saline dripped into Henry's body. One woman was doing chest compressions while another monitored his oxygen levels. "Call his mothers," Whale ordered. "They need to be here. Now." And the battle was on.

The fight for a life was never routine. And yet there was a rhythm to it. A doctor once described treating cancer patients as a delicate balance. You poisoned the patient and hoped that you gave him enough to kill the cancer instead of the patient. The same worked in the ER. You give too much of a life saving drug or you set the defibrillator too high and you kill your patient. You do too little and you kill the patient. The monitor blared its steady monotone, minute after minute. And sometimes, no matter what you do, your patients just die; Whale finally admitted defeat as Nurse Johnson quietly called out, "He's been down fifteen minutes, Doctor."

"Time of death: 8:12."

_'Death be not proud.' Donne got that right. Death? You stole this child too soon from us. He wasn't done yet, had barely lived. Damn right you better not be proud of what you've done. _The room was quiet except for the machines' beeps and the occasional sniffle that slipped past professional medical deportment. They would all cry later, alone and unseen, for the child they had failed to save. But for now they still had a job to do.

Dr. Whale and the Mother Superior left the room, exhausted both physically and mentally, only to see Henry's mothers finally back from wherever they had spent the night. They mouthed the platitudes their professions told them they must. "We did everything we could." "I'm sorry." Empty words, empty empathy, one size fits all phrases designed to help the speaker cope, not the listener.

Reul added in a jab, "You're too late." An extra bit of guilt added on to the mothers who abandoned their child in his greatest hours of need. Solomon, with all his wisdom, awarded the child to the woman who was willing to give up her baby to a stranger rather than see him dead. But these women? Regina and Emma had been fighting over Henry for months and apparently neither were willing to stay with him as he fought for his life. They didn't deserve him, neither of them. And now Henry was safe with God, saved from Hell by baptism and the last rites. Saved from the mothers whose rivalry was more important than their child.

Emma approached Henry's body as a nurse removed the last bits connecting him to machines. _You can't be dead. I fought a dragon for you! With Prince Charming's sword! _In the past 24 hours, her world had turned upside down and inside out. Emma was a firm believer that life sucked, people sucked, and no matter how awesome an opportunity or a person seemed at first, you were going to one day wake up and be disappointed. Here was the shining proof: her son lying dead at the hands of his other mother because Emma had refused to believe in the unbelievable. With tears dripping down her face, Emma leaned over her son's body and whispered, "I love you Henry." And she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Dr. Whale was a scientist; he knew that rainbows were just light refracted by an object like a crystal or water droplet. They had no physical form; you could shine one on your skin and not feel it. But this rainbow was different. This visible wave of energy rushed out from Henry's body and physically slammed through him like a punch in the gut. Except that this punch was to his mind, to whatever had shielded the memories of who he really was.

The rainbow spread out throughout the entire town, waking their minds up from over 28 years of slumber. They frantically sought to reconcile who they had been with who they were now. A loyal follower of Princess Snow White reduced to a town drunk. A prince became a fisherman. A knight fared poorly as a flower seller. A king who lorded over all as a district attorney. A princess noted for her beauty reviled as an unwed mother. The Dark One's true love who didn't even know her own name. An original power living the life of a penitent. The people took to the streets as their memories returned. Parents sought out their children. Brothers looked for sisters. Everyone was anxious to find their loved ones, make sure they were safe. They needed to know who was here and who had been left behind. Exuberance that the curse was broken filled their souls. Many tears of happiness were shed as loved ones were reunited. But throughout the celebration of Emma's success, an undercurrent of hatred towards the Evil Queen grew. The slightest push could alter this festive crowd to a mob screaming for brutal justice.

The push arrived as a roiling cloud of purple smoke that engulfed the town bringing yet another change to the Town of Storybrooke.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter is a bit on the frisky side. I'm trying to keep it clean-ish, but I'm writing about teenagers, and they are going to get their groove on, so to speak. If that's not your cup of tea, I'd skip this chapter.**

**Begin rant. The OUAT season 4 finale [well the entire season 4 (esp 4A)] was so disappointing to me, I didn't want to think about the stories I'm writing. An alternate reality where villains win by becoming the heroes? The heroes are still winning, then. Grr. I expected Henry to be the next author. Kinda surprised that Emma is the new Dark One. And I'm not happy at all at the way they treated Rumplestiltskin. Is he powerless now? Or did removing the Dark One's taint simply remove the attachment to the dagger? **

**The Emma piece is so easily resolvable without finding Merlyn; the sorcerer's apprentice takes Emma and Hook back to the EF where they kiss true love's kiss. This breaks the Dark One's Curse. End of story arc. **

**I'm also not happy with the spoilers I'm reading about the Camelot characters. This cast is so huge right now without adding in anyone new. They need to concentrate on solving the problems facing the existing cast before bringing in any more major characters. End of rant.**

**As always, thank you for reading. Any comments or suggestions are welcome and appreciated.**

* * *

Merida stood up straighter, a testament that at least one of her mother's lessons in deportment had become habitual. But her stride towards the makeshift target was her normal loose limbed walk instead of the boneless, gliding motion that was the epitome of a lady's walk. She pulled the arrows from their circle and carefully placed them in her quiver, which she removed from her waist, before heading to PJ still sitting on his trash bag. She sank cross legged onto an empty section of his trash bag, and held out her hand, "Hi, I'm Merida, daughter of the Laird of Dunbroch."

Jack took it with a grin. "Jack, former stable hand for King George and Prince James. But I think I like PJ better than Jack."

"I guess this means the Curse is over then."

PJ leaned sideways, bumping shoulders with Merida. "Thank you, Captain Obvious," he grinned.

"Be serious, PJ. We're still here. In Storybrooke. Not that I'm complaining, but I wonder why we didn't go back?"

"Dunno. Why wouldn't you want to go back? You're the daughter of a laird? You must have lived in a castle! With servants at your beck and call."

"Yeah, I grew up in a castle. But it wasn't all bowing and scraping and getting my way, you know. Dad's an accountant here, but there? There he was the very definition of Laird: loud, boisterous, brave, able to fight with any weapon, or even no weapon at all. His men were just like him, forever burping or farting when they weren't getting into fights. Dad gave me my first bow and taught me how to shoot when I was four. I wanted to be just like him. I even learned how to burp the alphabet to be more like him. But Mum, she was a lady; she could have put Emily Post out of a job. And she was determined to make me just like her." Merida flopped backwards onto the still wet grass in protest of being a lady. She regretted her action immediately; the wet ground was _cold_. "Mum strangled me with corsets and gave me lessons in walking with books on my head. I hated it, hated her for a while, too. I knew she loved me and wanted what she thought was best for me. But getting engaged at 16 to a complete stranger? I wanted to be more than a brood mare…. And I really wanted to know more about my future husband than just that he was the son of the Laird of some clan or other and knew which end of a sword you held."

"I know what you mean. My mom worked in the kennels at the castle." PJ leaned back and rolled slightly so he was lying on his side, one hand supporting his head. The other hand itched to slide under Merida's shirt and explore how soft her skin was. "And for years she would bring me my lunch and we would eat together. But then about a year before the curse, girls started delivering my meals. Kitchen maids, laundresses, once even an upstairs maid. She finally admitted that these were girls she thought I might find to be pretty and she thought might be an acceptable daughter-in-law. I thought about running away and joining the army, but by then the war was over. I knew why she was looking; my dad had been a gambler and he left before Jillian, that's Penny's other name, was born. And even with the three of us working at the castle, money was tight. Having another person with an income would be an immense help…. Especially once Jillian got married herself."

PJ stopped thinking about the past, and started thinking about his trash bag. It was one of the really large bags…. If the ripped the side seams and opened it, they could both lay almost full length on it. They'd have to be really close together. He was about to suggest this when he saw a curl of purple mist winding about a tree. "What the hell is that?"

Merida turned her head to look where PJ was looking. More tendrils were creeping around the trees, snaking through the grass. And behind them was a roiling cloud. "Magic," she whispered. Then more urgently, "PJ! This must be the cloud that takes us back to the Enchanted Forest!" She grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her. "Clan Dunbroch is about a three day journey by horse in the mountains north of the Dark Castle. All the clans live there; you can ask any of them for directions. My parents probably won't let me go look for you. Come find me. Please!"

"I promise. I will find you." He sealed his promise with a kiss. The teens realized this might be the last time they kissed, and this lent desperation to their actions. As their tongues tangled with each other, their hands roamed the other's body, sliding under shirts and for the very first time exploring the various ridges and bumps and relative smoothness of skin of their lover. Mouths soon followed hands; shirts were shoved up and off exposing pale skin to the morning sun and the other's ardent gaze.

The magic cloud bubbled across the field, sliding over and around the lovers, continuing its journey from the well where it was born until it had filled every corner and crevice of this little town of Storybrooke.

The sun warming his naked back gently intruded into PJ's conscious mind. A mind that was already overloaded with sensations: touch, taste, scent, and hearing were all focused on the girl lying beneath him, her jean clad hips and legs mindlessly caressing his. But eventually the intrusion was enough to make him raise his head and open his eyes to see that the magic cloud was indeed gone.

"Fiona. Fee. Honey," he whispered between more kisses. "We've got to stop. The cloud, it's gone."

"Gone?" Merida looked up at PJ and then around the clearing in confusion. "But we're still here…." PJ moved slightly, adjusting his weight on his arms; Merida snapped out of her confusion realizing that she was half naked, lying underneath a half naked boy, in the middle of a forest and people investigating the purple cloud could be walking towards them. She felt as if her whole body was blushing; and given the suddenly grin appearing on PJ's face as he gazed at her breasts, she probably was. She pushed PJ off, grabbed her T-shirt and wiggled her way into it. "We need to get back to town. Find out what's happened."

* * *

Merida was right about people walking through the forest. But it wasn't people heading in to where the cloud originated. Mr. Gold was walking out of the forest about 50 yards ahead of the teens. And he wasn't alone. He was escorting a woman wearing the most dreadful looking coat and shoes on the planet. And her brown hair was as ratted and messy as Merida's on a good day. Their heads tilted in towards each other as they walked and they looked at each other almost as much as they looked at the path ahead. She touched him constantly, his arm, his face, cupping his neck to draw his mouth down for a kiss. In one hand he held his ever present cane; the other was resting on the woman's back in that sweet spot between 'friend' (just below mid-back) and 'gross' (cupping her butt). That spot where the spine curved creating a natural resting place for a lover's hand. Taken all together, the picture the two presented screamed out to any observer 'he's/she's mine; stay away'.

_Interesting_, Merida thought. _Mr. Gold has a girlfriend…._

* * *

The main streets of Storybrooke were crowded with people hugging and crying and laughing. It was utter madness as friends and families reunited with each other and rejoiced in the Curse being broken. And worried over those not yet found. Over and over they asked, 'Have you seen so and so?'

Marcie pulled PJ into an embrace with the arm not already hugging her daughter Jillian. "Jack, my darling boy. You're OK. I was so worried. Jill and I couldn't find you…."

Merida looked past the Johnsons to see if her own family was amidst the throng. But as she wound her way in and around the various groupings, she realized that the only members of the upper nobility or royals in sight were Princess Snow White and her husband Prince James. Here and there she saw a baron or knight or lady she recognized from her travels to Snow White's and James' wedding. But the lairds, dukes, princes, kings and their ladies were suspiciously absent. She supposed it might be more than slightly humiliating for the royals to wake up and realize how far they had fallen. _Mum was a very proud Lady with servants attending to every whim. And she's probably cut and colored their hair and sucked up to them so they would come back to her shop. And Dad! From warrior Laird to accounting nerd. _

She supposed there was one other good thing about the Curse being broken. Not a single person looked at her strangely as she walked home wearing a quiver full of arrows on her hip and carrying a recurved bow.


	6. Chapter 6

1) The curse was broken. 2) Magic had come to Storybrooke. 3) Life officially sucked.

Those were the three things Merida knew for certain. Weeks had passed since the Curse ended, and things were really no better than on the first day.

There was so much that was messed up in Storybrooke; the four horsemen of the apocalypse were not interested in solving those problems. They were too busy chasing monsters and jumping into hats. (So far four broken legs and one broken arm resulted from people trying to reverse Snow White's and Sheriff Swan's trip from the Enchanted Forest via the old well.) Of course, there was the obvious question that everyone was asking: 'When do we return to the Enchanted Forest?' And "Why is the Evil Queen not in police custody awaiting trial?' Merida suspected that there were an awful lot of people doing as her father and the other highland lairds were doing: googling the famous torturers/executioners and exactly how they kept their prisoners alive for days and kept the crowds entertained at the same time. She suspected a trial was going to be a mere formality; the outcome was certain. What was left to be decided was exactly how and how publically Regina was going to die.

However, there were other situations going on that Snow White, as nominal queen, and Sheriff Swan were quite willing to ignore. What exactly to do with those families that had been interrupted? There was one family that was frantic; they had had a daughter, Paige, while under the Curse. When everyone woke up, she was gone. They didn't know her real name, whether or not she had been reunited with her birth parents. Nothing. Then there were at least a dozen students at the high school who were making a fuss. Back home they had been married, but the Curse put them in their parents' houses. So now there was this legal issue: were teens, as young as fifteen and sixteen in some cases, properly married? Especially the ones that were pregnant or had recently given birth? And there was the instance of one fifteen year old (who sat next to her step-son in home room) who had no desire to return to her husband's home. He was threatening a law suit for breach of promise; her parents really didn't want to have to return the bride money. And where the groom had remained King George's ally even after Prince James and Snow White deposed him and King George was now the District Attorney, the outcome of that law suit was in doubt.

Then there were the situations that were personal issues for Merida; PJ's dad had moved into their basement. Back in the Enchanted Forest, he had decided he wasn't cut out for the 'family life', and had walked (run) away from the family leaving PJ's mom to take up the slack. The Curse had dragged him back into 'dad' mode, and he was right pissed about that. But leaving the house, since this was now America and not the Enchanted Forest, meant that he would be required to pay support for his wife and kids on top of his own expenses which really weren't covered by his job…. So the basement it was; PJ made sure to leave early in the morning and arrive home just before bed to avoid the arguments.

And finally, but certainly not the last issue to complain about, the administrators at school had just come to the realization that the seniors needed to graduate. No one had ever planned a graduation before. And then there was the question of what to do with the seniors after graduation. Normal seniors would have already applied to college or the military and heard back from those institutions. Normal seniors would be able to leave town to go to college, to travel, to enter the military, to seek their fortunes in New York or LA. Normal seniors had birth certificates that didn't indicate they were 28 years older than they appeared to be.

But about these normal issues, the peanut gallery: the Evil Queen, Snow White, the Blue Fairy and the Dark One, were silent. The four most powerful people in the town: the four who, directly or indirectly, placed the Curse upon the land, completely ignored all the 'everyday problems' so they could focus on what 'really counted'. The townsfolk watched and waited in agony as the four made and broke treaties and alliances with each other.

If there were any attempts to break the amnesiac spell on the border, it was not mentioned in the Daily Mirror. There were no rumors of any attempts to return people to their homes in the Enchanted Forest. The town's borders remained sealed. And the people remained in Storybrooke.

The upland clans, however, stopped waiting for Snow and Blue to get their acts together and instead placed their hopes and dreams in the hands of their own lairds and ladies. Merida's house became central command for Clan DunBroch; tartan covered lads and lasses traipsed through the house at all hours. Her father, Fergus, had decided his prosthetic leg was fine for hiding under pants, but his wooden peg matched his plaid much better. He could often be found in his office of an evening with the other lairds discussing whiskey making, holding a gathering, and which witches were actually witches (capable of using magic and therefore able to remove either the amnesiac spell or send all the clans back to the highlands) and which were merely labeled witches due to their appearance or use of herbs. Merida's mother, Elinor, held court both day and night (day in her salon and night in her parlor) adjudicating any and all issues brought before her, just as if she was back in Castle DunBroch.

And that in itself was a bit of a problem for their eldest daughter. The highland folk had lairds who acted as if they were kings. There was no feudal system of government as in the lowlands with their kings, dukes, and so on. Oh, the lowlanders had tried to conquer the highlands and had even installed a duke centuries before: the Duke of the Frontierlands. But clansfolk answered to their individual lairds and whenever possible, they ignored their so-called Duke. But even that fiction was eliminated with the ending of the Ogre's War and the installment of the current Dark One. So here Merida stood, daughter of a laird and, for all intents and purposes, a princess in her own right. She certainly had been treated as one when she toured the lowlands and attended Snow White and James' wedding. But princesses had marital responsibilities to their clans; Merida was more interested in college plans….

She was excluded from conferencing with the lairds, because of her feminine nature, and admonished to sit quietly and observe when in the ladies' court. Lady Elinor resumed the elocution and posture lessons deemed necessary for a princess. Merida escaped as often as she could, hiding in the woods with her bow and arrows or hanging out with PJ.

Unfortunately, a dinner party with the clan lairds and ladies (and their unmarried sons) was inescapable. The topic at dinner was outwardly innocuous: allying the clans to the lowlanders in order to further clan interests. But Merida caught several of the glances sent in her direction; by 'ally' they meant marriage to a lowlander royal or noble, and since she had already turned down four of the clans' sons, she was their first choice as bride to be.

The ladies almost confirmed this after dinner when sitting in the living room. They all worked in the same salon with Lady Elinor, and seemed over eager to give Merida a make-over.

"With such outrageously red hair and fair skin, I'd go with a neutral brown palette and just the barest hint of a gold highlight for eye color. The browns will make those baby-blues pop!"

"Oh, yes. And a sheer lip gloss, too. She's already got a nice, natural lip color, but some shine would be appropriate."

"And a light pink or clear on her nails. Girls today are into those absurdly long acrylic nails with overly elaborate sprayed-on nail art or bright white French manicures, which are, I hate to say it, disgusting looking."

"I don't need make-up." Merida grumbled.

"Of course you do, sweetheart." This patronizing _(matronizing?)_ comment came complete with a patronizing pat on her leg. "Boys, and men, like to see their women looking as pretty as possible. And you've got such nice skin, you need just a touch to go from OK to WOW."

"At least she escaped the freckles that are so common with red heads."

"Speaking of red heads, that color is so brash!"

"Well, I have the perfect color in mind. Add in some brown and deep red. Make it a bit darker, more auburn."

"Oh, that will be so pretty! And with it cut just below the shoulders…?"

"And a frizz relaxer, too."

"I like my hair!" This protest, too, was shushed.

"Yes, yes. Of course you do. But you're eighteen, almost nineteen now, and you need a grown-up hair-cut."

"A frizz relaxer should release most of those tight curls. And a flat iron will flatten the rest."

"Or even give her curls. I've had wonderful results from making curls with my straightener."

"Why would I get rid of my curls just to put them back in?" Eight pairs of astonished eyes turned at once to look at Merida.

"The flat iron puts in manageable curls, dear." The tone clearly stated the speaker was addressing an idiot. "Not these… cork screws."

"I like my cork screws."

"Don't sulk, Merida. It's unbecoming in a lady."

* * *

"Hi. I'm Vincent. You must be Merida." He held out a well calloused hand for her to shake; in the fraction of a second before Merida's hand rose to take it, she heard her mother tsk in disbelief at Merida's lack of manners. If it weren't for the parents-fixing-me-up-on-a-date-even-though-I-already-have-a-boyfriend-and-then-deciding-to-go-on-said-date horror, she would have been willing to stare at the man standing across the table from her in Granny's Diner until she needed a pail to bail out the puddle of drool engulfing her feet. He was, quite simply, gorgeous. Tall, black-black hair and deep sapphire blue eyes with muscles in all the right places (she could spend hours counting and recounting the abs quite nicely displayed by his tight white tee) and not a spare ounce of fat anywhere. Add to that pearly white teeth and a killer smile without a hint of artifice, and you had the very definition of 'perfect man'. Merida tried very hard to elegantly slide into her chair, but the extremely form fitting dress Lady Elinor picked out had almost no give to the fabric, so it was more of a slither and a plop.

"So, tell me about yourself," she sighed as she swung her legs under the table. Merida stifled her grimace as the parents' faces beamed at her amazing conversational skills. _Rule number one for girls: never talk about yourself; always ask about him. _

"Well, I'm twenty-two. Here I work in construction. Apparently for the three little pigs." Vincent said wryly. "Back there I was a prince of the Maritime Kingdom; my dad's," he nodded at the man sitting in the booth across from Laird Fergus waving his hand, "brother is Prince Eric's father." Vincent leaned over the table and asked in a stage whisper, "Want to go for a walk? It's a little stifling in here with so many people staring at us."

Merida nodded her head, anxious for the escape. The movement tied an errant curl into a knot around one of the buttons going down the back of her dress. She winced at the pain, her head held at an unnatural angle.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah, yes. My hair is caught." She tried to untangle the curl, but only managed to winch her head back further catching yet another strand of hair around a button. _At least this 'date' is a washout because of the dress Mum insisted on me wearing._ Vincent eased himself out of the table with a murmured "Allow me," and unwound the hair from the buttons. The perfect looking man was also the perfect gentleman as he helped Merida up from the table and out of the Diner.

If she was going to be hyper-critical, Vincent's hair was a tad too long in the back. It brushed against the collar of his T-Shirt with this hint of a wave. Merida imagined that he kept it that way for his girlfriends to have a good grip on while kissing.

"No, no girlfriend, I'm afraid," Vincent responded. At Merida's blank look, he continued. "My hair? I keep it long because I like the way it looks." As she began to blush, realizing her thoughts had emerged as actual words, he considerately changed the subject. "You were asking about me. I'm the Spare Apparent. If Cousin Eric doesn't marry and have a couple of sons, I might be king after him. And while the crown is lovely, there are gems the exact same color as my eyes, I really don't want the responsibility. I have a hard enough time working under my father keeping the duchy in order. And he's doing most of the work. I had my hopes up one night. Eric was going on and on about this girl, Ariel, that he met at a ball. He kept insisting she was the one. And then she bailed on him…."

Merida chuckled, "I guess he didn't kiss the girl, so now she's this wormy thing in Ursula's cave, huh?"

"What?"

"You know. _Under the sea. Under the sea. Down here it's better, down where it's wetter. Take it from me!"_ she sang.

"What are you talking about?"

"_There you see her. Sitting there across the way. She don't got a lot to say, but there's something about her. Yah yah yah yah._" When he frowned in confusion, he got this line straight down between his eye brows to his nose; her fingers twitched to smooth it out for him. "Sebastian? Flounder? Those slimy eels with the yellow eye? King Triton and his thirteen daughters?" Merida paused after each question; Vincent showed no signs he had any idea of what she was saying. "The Little Mermaid? Disney movie?" A blank face continued to look down at her. "The Little Mermaid. Based on the Hans Christian Anderson tale. Or was it those brothers…. Anyway. She's a mermaid who falls in love with a prince. Ursula takes her voice in exchange for human legs. Then she's supposed to make the prince fall in love with her. And depending on who's telling the story, she either gets the prince and they live happily ever after, or he falls in love with some other woman and she's left voiceless and miserable for the rest of her life."

Vincent shook his head slowly. "Never heard of it. But for Eric's sake, I hope she returns. The voice is probably optional. But I'm pretty sure he wants his wife to have legs."

By now, they were standing on the docks looking over the boats bobbing gently in the waves. The sun was starting to set, streaking the sky with brilliant bursts of color. Wave crests sparkled a light grey against the midnight blue hue of the ocean. "This is so beautiful," Merida sighed. "I wish PJ was here to see it."

"PJ?" Vincent leaned on a rail, back to the ocean.

"Oh, my boyfriend." Merida bit her lip as she looked up at Vincent. "I have a boyfriend… So I'm here,"

"So do I," he interrupted.

"Because my parents are making me. Not that you're not a nice guy… What?"

"I have a boyfriend. So… yeah."

For a moment, they were both quiet as she absorbed this unexpected information. The wind gently tousled their hair, and Merida made a quick wish that it wouldn't wind around her buttons again.

"So why are you here? I mean, you're old enough to say you're not going on a date with your parents in tow."

"Goddess forbid anything happens to Eric. Or that he does marry his Ariel, but they can't have children. Worst case, though, I end up king. Which means I would need to marry. Marry a girl, that is. And have children with her. And, I… I guess, I'd like to at least like her. Mutual respect, you know?" He turned to face the ocean, now a rolling black with shiny white tips. "If I can't give her the romance and love she deserves, at least I can…."

"Be her friend?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"I hope Eric finds Ariel."

"Me too."

* * *

"Merida? I've volunteered you to do some light housework."

"Mum!"

Lady Elinor carefully adjusted the ends of her scarf. "Mrs. Whispers fell and broke her leg last night. The ladies and I will be cooking her food and helping her to dress and take care of personal things. Someone needs to help with the cleaning."

"When exactly am I supposed to be doing this?" Merida slumped in the kitchen chair knowing she sounded like a petulant child. But after the dinner party, and the parents-on-a-date, this whole grow up and act like an adult thing seemed an awful lot like the sit still, behave, and do as your told of her childhood.

Lady Elinor gave her a stern look. "She's an elderly woman who is not allowed to walk on crutches for fear that she'll fall and hurt something worse. It is your duty as a Lady," somehow Merida could hear the capitalization, "to help the unfortunate and the needy. It's just a couple hours a week to dust and mop and wash down the bathroom. You spend more than that texting your _friend_." Merida heard the distaste in that word, too.

Merida bit down on her tongue. Almost nineteen (going on forty seven) year olds should be able to not stick their tongues out at their parents.

0-0

_The first clue should have been the name._ _Seriously. Who in the highlands would name their child Willow Whispers? The second clue could have been the 'come in; I'm in the den.' Or the doormat. Or the stained glass window in the door. Or the carved newel posts at the bottom of the stairs. Or even the décor in the living room. _Merida glared at the diminutive woman sitting primly on her couch, one cast-wrapped leg elevated. "You ruined my life."

The elderly woman smirked at the glare. "You asked for a spell to change your fate. Perhaps you should have been more specific?"


	7. Chapter 7

Willow Whispers was tiny, standing several inches below five feet. Her gray hair that had straggled about her back in the highlands was now neatly cut and coiffed, probably Lady Elinor's doings. She wore a brightly colored flowery house-dress which had gone out of style long before Storybrooke appeared and mis-matched sneakers below her cast. She tottered to the kitchen muttering about making a proper cuppa and wondering if there were any chocolate biscuits left.

Merida's frown deepened as she followed the older woman. "You broke your leg."

Willow grinned, "Of course I did. Had to get you here somehow, didn't I?"

"You broke your leg on purpose?"

"Of course not. Where did your mum put the sugar?" Willow climbed onto the counter and started moving boxes and cans around in the cabinet. "I pretended to break my leg (the x-rays were very convincing) and then made noises about how the young folk these days don't know their place. It's always the adults who already have jobs to do who take on the responsibilities for assisting their elders. Blah, blah, blah. Your mum volunteered you right away. Predictable, that one is."

The younger woman picked up an intricately carved wooden bear and considered hurling it through one of the windows. It would make such a nice, satisfying, crashing noise. "You ruined my life," she repeated.

"Bah!" The witch turned carefully, still on the counter, balancing a box of corn flakes on her head, a jar of black olives in one hand and peanut butter in the other, and a bag of flour clutched between her knees. "You asked me to change your fate; I did. You were headed for a loveless, political marriage and bound to resent your parents. And now look at you!"

"Still bound for a loveless, political marriage."

"No, no!" The old witch hastily stowed her food back in the cabinet and climbed down. "You needed to realize that your mother loved you, no matter what. And she needed to see that you were not meant to be a confined 'lady of the house', sewing tapestries and supervising servants. Your father needed to see that you were not only smart and brave for a girl, that you were more than just a daughter to be married off. You didn't get married, did you!"

"Well, that hasn't really worked out that way, has it? For two years I was allowed to be me. And then the Curse hit! And the clans are powerless in this new land. We can't go home. We can't leave Storybrooke. My father was as powerful as any lowland king! And they ignore him! The clan lairds think that we need to ally ourselves to lowlander kingdoms and we'll be included in the decision making then." She fisted her hands and shook them at the witch, yelling, her brogue getting thicker, "They canna understand! None o' them. It's no the bloody lowlander nobles in charge. It's that bloody Snow White! She and her little posse." Merida slumped, defeated, into a chair. "I can't even tell my parents. I don't know how to tell my parents….

"I want to go to college. I want to study science and math and… and… I want to try out for the Olympic team in archery. I'm good enough with my old bow! Just think how great I'd be with one of those modern bows!

"I want to be a normal teenager and have a dozen crushes on boys before I fall head over heels in love with one of them. I don't want to find myself married at 19 to Prince Eric's gay cousin, no matter how gorgeous he is, just because my parents think we need allies."

The witch sat in the chair opposite Merida. "My dear." She reached over to pat the girl's hand. "You're not a child any more. It's time to stop acting like one. You want to go to college? Go!"

* * *

Merida sighed as she dug her bare toes further into the cold sand next to PJ's flip-flops. It was still early June, but the sun was out, temperatures were finally reaching the mid-70s, the wind off the water was gentle enough that one did not need a jacket, and many of the newly graduated were sunbathing. A daring few were out splashing in the still frigid waves. Between writing college essays, house cleaning for the witch, more 'dates' with Vincent and the parents, and PJ getting a job stocking groceries, the two had had very little time to be together.

Although, to be completely fair, 'house cleaning' consisted of demonstrating (over and over and over again) that she had absolutely no aptitude for learning magic to go along with no desire to actually do magic. And quite a bit of Mrs. Whispers telling Merida to stop acting like a sulky child. And being reminded that there were hundreds of colleges within a five or six hour drive, so if she really wanted to go, she should pack up and go already.

Of course, there was that teensy problem about returning to your cursed form if you crossed over the town line…..

Merida assumed that in addition to Mrs. Whispers actively looking for a way past the town barrier, the other magicians were also searching. Privately she thought that they'd have greater luck if they all worked together, but the probability that the Blue Fairy's light magic would mesh with Rumplestiltskin's dark magic was essentially quite close to zero if the way they behaved towards each other in public was any indication of how they truly felt about each other.

So, for the moment, there was one way out of town. A one way ticket for Merida and Jack. Or rather Fiona and PJ.

Hence, enjoying the small moments like this one. The cool, gritty sand sliding between her toes. The crisp salty scent of the ocean mixed with the earthier odors of decaying seaweed and dead shell fish. Shrieks and laughter from former classmates as warm toes met frigid water echoed by the gulls hunting for fish. The ocean changing colors from blue to green and hints of yellow/white reflecting the sun. The roar and crash of the waves hitting the shore, and the slither sliding sounds as the water retreated over the rocks. A loving boyfriend sleeping peacefully at her side, one arm shading his eyes from the sun.

* * *

"Dark One. I want to make a deal with you." Mr. Gold had briefly looked up as the door bell tinkled, announcing Merida's arrival to his shop, but he hadn't raised his eyes from the broken watch laying on the counter in front of him as she browsed the cases.

"I'm sorry, Dearie, but there is nothing you have that I want."

"I'll do…"

"Anything?" he quipped. "The word you're looking for is anything."

"Well, I was going to say that," she agreed. "But then I thought of several anythings that I would never do, so…. Within reason and for a comparable value. No small print."

Now she had his full attention. "Interesting," he mused. "You're one of a select few who placed caveats on what they will do for my… assistance. What can I do for you?"

She pulled two blank hospital forms from her backpack and placed them on the counter next to the watch. "PJ and I. We're thinking of leaving Storybrooke. Going to college in Portland or Boston, maybe. But we need papers and help. Once we cross the town line, we won't remember the last few months, right? So we'll need someone to help us if we do decide to go, to make those memories or something. And we need papers: birth certificates," she nodded at the forms, "transcripts. Stuff we need to make our way."

"Can't help you, Dearie."

"Can't or won't?"

"Either. Take your pick. I can't help _you_."

Merida noted the inflection. "Why not me?"

The Dark One perused one of the blank birth certificates. "When and where was Miss MacDonald born?"

"August 3, 1992. Inverness, Scotland…. Oh." Merida barely restrained herself from stomping her foot. Forging a simple birth certificate for an obscure town in Maine was quite a different story than forging an international birth certificate, visa and passport, and other documentation that proved she was here legally. Documentation that would be verified (or not, as the case would be) by people beyond the control of the Curse. And Fiona would remember a childhood spent in Inverness, legally immigrating here at age 12. She would never understand why she needed forged papers….

The shop bell tinkled again, announcing another customer. Merida was still looking at the shop keeper, so she saw his face soften, his eyes light up, and, if he hadn't been older than dirt, she would have described his grin as goofy with love as he recognized the new arrival. His drawn out "haaaaayyy" was answered by a slighter shorter in length, and more feminine, "haaayy". Merida turned to see a cleaned up version of the woman she had seen Gold escorting the morning the Curse broke stepping across the wooden floor, absurdly high heels for a woman of her age clicking against its polished surface. And the way she was looking at him? _Ooh, ick. Elderly people should not be permitted to look at each other like love-sick puppies in front of other people._ Although, as the woman got closer, Merida could see that this woman was probably closer in age to herself than to Gold. And if she was being charitable, it was quite possible that Gold wasn't as old (immortality aside) as he looked, either…. Rumor had it that Rumplestiltskin had lived in extreme poverty before becoming the Dark One. And poverty had a way of aging a body long before its time; she had personally met women in their twenties with the grey hair, wrinkles and teeth of septuagenarians. So maybe the age difference wasn't quite so large, after all. Still gross, though, the way they were almost making out with just their eyes. _Get a room!_

"Belle," Gold interrupted Merida's thoughts. "This is Merida from clan DunBroch. Merida, this is Belle from Avonlea. Sweetheart, we're almost done here. Miss MacDonald, I'm sorry, but I cannot help you."

"What about new memories? Can't you curse me once I cross? Or hypnotize me?"

"Magic doesn't work that way, Dearie." Gold was getting impatient. "Regina cast the Curse; she is the one who gave you those memories. For me to undo her work will take time. I am working on it, but…." He shrugged. "Right now I think I might have a way to leave for short periods of time. But," he held up a hand as Merida opened her mouth to speak. "But. It is no where near ready to be tested. And it would only be for short periods of time: a month, maybe two at the most. Certainly not long enough for you to go away to college."

"Merida, he's working very hard." Belle's voice was soft and low and encouraging. "He will find a way for you to cross the town line and keep your memories. You just have to be patient…"

"Patience, my young padawan," Merida muttered. At the others' startled looks, she shook her head. "Nevermind." She took the blank certificates and shoved them back into her pack. "Thanks. Nice to meet you, Belle."

Crestfallen, Merida left the pawnshop. Plan A left crushed and broken behind her in its environs. _Somehow. Someway. I will leave this town._


End file.
